


Stranger Strikes of the Clock

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [193]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Early Nineteenth Century, M/M, Vampire!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “Ah,” said Mr. Barnes. “Yes, so. It seems I owe you a gardener.”





	Stranger Strikes of the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Vampire AU and "What the dickens?" Prompts from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

“What the dickens?”

“I can explain,” Mr. Barnes said, hands up and teeth glistening, and to be fair, it was really the scarlet on his chin that did him in. That and the dripping mess that was his collar. He dropped the rather unfortunate man to the rug and made a face that said _oh hell, you got me._

Anthony crossed his arms and did his best not to look unduly alarmed. After all, Mr. Barnes was his guest and lord knew he rarely had any visitors that didn’t leave a mess of some sort--even if said sort wasn’t generally in the form of a dead body. “Well?” he said. “Let’s have it.”

Mr. Barnes sighed and reached for his handkerchief, a wide, creamy thing he patted over the curve of his mouth. “I’m a vampire, I’m afraid,” he said, with the air of the oh so very resigned. “Got bit by one of the damn things in Prussia during the last war when I was working as a mercenary for hire. Thought I’d been clipped on the neck by a Kraut; didn’t take it at all seriously until I’d sucked dry my boodle boy and one of the chaps in the next tent.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Indeed. I felt a proper fool when the pieces finally fell into place. Something funny about war, you know, even when you’re getting paid: people shooting at you makes it damn hard to think.”

“Ah. Well.” Anthony felt his cheeks heat, the stirrings of a proper blush. “I’d imagine, but I’ll take your word for that, shall I?”

Mr. Barnes looked rather alarmed. “No, no, Mr. Stark--please forgive my ill-conceived remark. I intended no offense.”

“None taken,” Anthony said. He tried to muster a smile. “My condition is well known and very much not your fault, Mr. Barnes.”

His visitor took a step away from the hearth, his eyes dark and his face rather downtrodden. “Nor is it yours, sir. It’s nature that dealt you a rough hand. And from birth, yes? Is that not so?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Barnes’s voice was warm and kind. “Well. if you’ll pardon my phrasing, there’s not a man I know who’d ever question what’s in your heart, no matter that muscle’s weakness.”

Anthony did smile then, the rusty motor in his chest hiccuping in reluctant delight. “Thank you.”

“No, truly.” Mr. Barnes was closer, having eased his way elegantly over the sprawl of the body. “I’ve never worried when I’ve carried a Stark rifle; they’re the best ever made.” He chuckled gently. “And I know our right and proper friend Captain Rogers feels the same way, if you’d prefer to set your stock by what the British Army does.”

“That is a comfort,” Anthony said. “Thank you.”

Mr. Barnes sketched a bow, and oh, he was very close now. His long hair had tumbled from its usual neat waves about his face; it was pleasantly mussed and damp with just a hint of sweat. But the midnight blue of his waistcoat was unwrinkled and his watch-chain was in place and If not for the slightly heavy way he was breathing and the shock of red upon his collar, Anthony thought, one could quite easily gaze upon Mr. Barnes and see only the handsome gentleman who’d turned up at Captain Rogers’ side three days ago in those soft evening hours marked by brandy and good stiff cigars.

“This,” the captain had said with no small excitement, “is the man I’ve been telling you about for so long, each of you to the other. Both! I'm so pleased to have you finally meet.”

Anthony had laughed and stuck out his hand and Mr. Barnes had taken it with a smile of great equanimity and something of the devil in his eye.

“A pleasure,” Anthony had said.

“Indeed,” Mr. Barnes had said, his fingers cool and powerfully strong. “One that’s all mine.”

That they had arrived in darkness hadn't seemed odd. The captain’s schedule was never his own, and he had crowded Anthony’s doorstep at stranger strikes of the clock than this. But for all that Rogers had loitered at his breakfast table and taken Anthony gallivanting about town during the day, Mr. Barnes had never shown himself below stairs until after 5, Anthony realized--until the sun’s fingers had slipped from the winter sky and left shadows hanging in their wake.

He had heard of vampires, of course; had even fancied he’d known one or two about town, though none had ever confirmed it. But gods help him, he’d never imagined that he’d be meeting one in his own home. And in front of a cooling body, no less.

His guest followed his gaze. “Ah,” said Mr. Barnes. “Yes, so. It seems I owe you a gardener.”

“Have you killed him?”

Mr. Barnes looked stricken. “I’m afraid so. I do apologize; it was not my intent. But it has been rather a long time since I’ve fed and I’m afraid I got carried away.” He bit his lip, spilled a bit of crimson there--an oddly appealing sight. “God,” Barnes said in a rush, “I feel like a schoolboy caught with his hand down his trousers. I’m not usually so ill-contained.”

“It must require a great deal of self-control. Being a vampire in a metropolis such as ours, I mean.”

“Oh, it does. It does indeed. But I wouldn’t have come back here if I didn’t trust my ability to contain myself.”

“Which you seem have lost hold of tonight.”

Mr. Barnes’s eyes found his and their long lashes dipped into shadow. “Indeed. I’ve been a very poor guest. I should understand if you’d like for me to go.”

“No,” Anthony said. “Nothing of the sort.”

He felt a strange hum in his body, not at all unpleasant, but definitely disquieting. It reminded him of the sensation he had when his fingers errantly brushed an electrical coil: his heart buzzed just then, standing in the parlor with Mr. Barnes, and his head felt suddenly light. He felt himself waver.

Mr. Barnes clutched at his arm much too hard--but rather perfect, really. “Are you well, Mr. Stark?”

“Anthony.” His voice felt like gossamer, sounded like silk. “I’d much prefer it if you called me that.”

“Of course. I’m honored, Anthony.” Two hands on him now like tigers, strong and impossibly sleek. “You are too kind.”

He’d always read that vampire were cold, creatures as they were of the night, but Mr. Barnes was warm, like he’d sunk himself into the fire and crawled out wearing its gems. He found himself turning into that heat, pressing himself into Mr. Barnes’s startled arms even as the smell of fresh spilled blood caught at the back of his throat.

“Anthony--”

“Hmm?”

“Anthony, it would be best if you let me go.”

“Why?” The word so like a sigh. “Am I imposing?”

Mr. Barnes’s hair brushed his cheek and he felt his guest shiver. “Not quite. But you are making things rather difficult.”

“How so?”

A low sound, a fresh catch of breath. “There are certain side effects to feeding, sometimes. A shine that comes over me, so I’ve been told.”

Anthony slid a palm around Mr. Barnes’s back. “Is that so?”

“Mmm. Another trick of our friend nature.” A tug of lips over Anthony’s jaw. “The scent of one prey, as it were, serving to attract another.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Mr. Barnes chuckled, but there was heat behind it, not only mirth. “I’ve been in your house for three nights and never before have you advanced upon me thus, Anthony. That this is also the first night that I’ve accidentally eaten someone in your parlor cannot be a coincidence, can it?”

Anthony turned his grin beneath Mr. Barnes’s chin. “You’re forgetting one thing, though.”

“Am I? What’s that?”

“This is the first night that our good captain’s been out, too.”

Mr. Barnes’s fingers found Anthony’s hip and curled. They felt fierce there, like talons. “All of those things can be true, my friend, and this can still be a very, very bad idea.”

Anthony hitched his hips against his visitor’s and groaned softly at the steel he found there, the firm heat. “That’s not what this feels like to me.”

Another chuckle, a long stroke of quick tongue, a catch of something that felt like sharp teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m fairly sure I already have.”

Mr. Barnes snarled and Anthony moaned and they were two steps from the edge of a very odd evening indeed when there came the slam of the door, the quick tread of solid boots on the floor.

“Dear god, Bucky,” Captain Rogers said, his voice thick with exasperation, “can’t I be gone for two hours without you biting our host?”

“Don’t be jealous, Steven,” Mr. Barnes purred against Tony’s throat, laconic. “It doesn’t become you. I haven’t actually bitten him yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your humble correspondent is struggling to find her writing groove again. Bear with her kindly.


End file.
